


Precious Cargo

by Hobsonphile



Series: Tony Stark's Five Year Gap [5]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (but mild), (but not graphic), Action, Anxiety, As Cap would say: Language!, BAMF Tony Stark, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Five Year Gap, Frostbite, Gen, Hobs attempts plot, Humiliation, Hurt Tony Stark, Parent Tony Stark, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Protective Tony Stark, Tags May Change, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony saving himself with the trappings of fatherhood, Tony's naked for some of this, Unconventional Weaponry, Vomiting, Whump, Whump with plot, but everything's staying PG-13
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:34:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27785332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hobsonphile/pseuds/Hobsonphile
Summary: Tony gets into trouble at the local Christmas market — and unfortunately, Morgan is with him.--*--What this story will ultimately feature: Tony as an enraged, grizzly-bear daddy!(Now complete!)(Can be read with the rest of the series or alone.)
Relationships: Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Tony Stark & Avengers Team
Series: Tony Stark's Five Year Gap [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1776457
Comments: 57
Kudos: 61





	1. In Media Res

Drip. Drip. Drip.

That was the first thing that penetrated the black: droplets of icy water plopping onto his left cheek and rolling into his ear canal. With a low groan, Tony attempted to lift his hand to wipe the offending moisture away — and immediately hollered himself into full consciousness.

“ ** _God fucking damn it!_** ” 

Tony blinked hard to clear the tears that sprang to his eyes unbidden. His left shoulder was dislocated for sure, and the arm below it was, at the moment, a useless hunk of meat. Could he pop the stupid thing back into its socket? In a pinch — but who the blazes knew if it would do any good? His orthopedist was already urging him to get that shoulder replaced, so it wasn’t like he had a healthy joint there to begin with. The chances that he was well and truly screwed therefore hovered somewhere near one.

_No. Focus._

Gritting his teeth against the white-hot agony the slightest movement engendered, Tony pushed himself into a semi-seated position, pressing his back against the rough concrete wall behind him. For a moment, the change in posture made his vision swim — but through sheer force of will, he managed to keep his gorge in place. Barely.

_Where the fuck are you? What just happened? Take stock._

The where was simple enough to determine from a cursory glance at his surroundings. The room around Tony was dim and cool, its assorted contents coated with a fine layer of cobwebs and dust. Obviously, he’d been left to huff mold spores in some asshole’s dingy, dilapidated basement — and because he was **_just that lucky_** , his foot - _clink_ \- was currently handcuffed to an old radiator.

Oh: and he was bare-ass naked too. _Super._ He’d always wanted to cross “fight a bad guy while my dick hangs in the breeze” off his bucket list.

Now as for the what — well, that was a little fuzzier. Of course, that Tony had been worked over and kidnapped was also an elementary deduction given the aforementioned disabled limb, the steady throbbing of his temples, and the screaming protests of his other scrapes and bruises — especially for a guy who’d been abducted by assorted criminals on **_twenty-seven_** other occasions. But for the life of him, he couldn’t quite recall what he was doing before **_this_** particular snatch. All he could conjure was an incessant hum of anxiety — an awareness that he was forgetting something **_absolutely critical_**.

Tony took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and tried like hell to banish the fog from his mind. _What’s the last thing you remember? **Think.**_

“No, Tony. You don’t need more pets.”

Okay: that was breakfast. While Tony fed Morgan from a jar of pureed pear, he and Pepper had bickered lightly over whether or not they should acquire some sheep. Tony, naturally, was firmly in the yes column. He was already picturing what could be made with the wool — not to mention the delighted look on his daughter’s face once she saw the new additions to the steadily growing Stark menagerie. For **_that_** smile, he’d assemble a collection rivaling the San Diego Zoo if he had to. Alas, Pep didn’t seem all that persuaded by his thoroughly reasonable arguments.

_Come on. Spool forward._

The next memories came in fragments at first. Tony worming Morgan’s arms into a red and green jumper. A kiss on Tony’s parted lips. A hand caressing Tony’s jaw. 

And then: “Take a hundred pictures for me.”

“Easy peasy,” Tony had replied, tapping his sunglasses. “FRI is coming with me.”

And wrapped around his torso — was the baby sling. He was taking Morgan somewhere. Morgan was in his arms.

**_Morgan was in his arms._ **

Tony froze, the rest of the day coming back in a flash of terror, anger, and guilt. He’d brought Morgan on a day trip to the village — and now she was **_gone_** , taken by scum-bucket thugs for purposes unknown while her useless dad sat shackled to a pipe, shivering, bleeding, and whimpering in pain. 

Something tight and excruciating coiled in Tony’s chest, his breathing becoming more ragged. He’d fallen down on his number one duty as a parent: **_protect the kid_**. And worse? Stripped as he was of his usual means of defense, there was no guarantee he could make it right. 


	2. A Few Hours Earlier

“Why not push the press conference back ‘til tomorrow? Or tonight even if they’re that insistent. It’s not like any real harm was done.”

“Tony,” Pepper sighed as she pulled her pea coat off the hook by the front door and shrugged it on, “as much as I’d love to extend my maternity leave indefinitely, **_someone_** made me CEO ten years ago.” _Oh yeah,_ Tony thought. _One of the best decisions I’ve ever made, actually. Damn it._ “When something goes boom, I have to make a statement and I have to make it fast — unless you **_want_** our stocks to tank.”

The previous night, a sleep-deprived researcher working at Stark International’s Long Island branch had accidentally tripped the wrong switch, setting off a terrific sound and light show that drove everyone in the surrounding neighborhoods from their beds and out into the streets. Outside the lab in question, there was no serious damage, no chemical fallout — nothing that would warrant a public panic. But people were twitchy anyway — and, Tony had to admit, they had every right to be given the world they now lived in.

That didn’t mean he was happy to let Pepper go dance her dance with the media, though. Far from it. He’d been looking forward to this day for **_weeks_** — ever since the county supervisors voted to bring back the annual Christmas market “to boost morale”. From what he’d heard, the locals used to pull out all the stops for this event pre-Thanos, including everything from kiddie rides to fairway games to photos with Santa Claus. Granted, Tony had no idea if this year’s celebration would be quite as elaborate; national supply lines were still a bit unreliable from time to time, and labor was still scarce. But this market sounded like the perfect place to start Morgan’s first holiday season — even if it was a shadow of its former self and even if Morgan was far too young for most of what it might offer. 

Frowning at the disruption of his carefully laid plans, Tony reached out and pulled Pepper close, sandwiching their swaddled baby in the tight space between them. “I was really hoping to win you a teddy bear,” he told his wife as their noses touched.

Pepper giggled, digging her fingertips into the nape of Tony’s neck.

“And after that,” he continued, “I was going to buy us both mugs of cream soda and **_ridiculously_** fattening funnel cakes to eat by the Christmas tree in the village square.” 

“Going for **_all_** the cliches, Mr. Stark?”

“Mmm. Absolutely.” 

They kissed, long and deep — until Morgan scolded them with a whine, waving one fist in frustration at her confinement.

“I know, princess, I know,” Tony chuckled, breaking the lip-lock. “Mommy and Daddy are gross. But trust me: you’ll feel differently when you’re older.”

Pepper rested one hand on Tony’s shoulder and cupped his cheek with the other. “Take a hundred pictures for me.”

“Easy peasy. FRI is coming with me.”

“Good. And if Murray’s Bakery has a stall there, you can bring me back one of their famous banana cream pies.”

“Aye aye, boss lady.”

Pepper grabbed her keys, moved in for one more quick kiss, and then opened the door — only to pause before she’d fully crossed the threshold, her face taking on a sterner cast. “Please remember, Tony: foodstuffs and gifts yes, animals no.”

“Mooom.”

“Tony.”

“Don’t worry, honey. I’m kidding.” _Sort of._ “I swear: no furry surprises. Cross my heart.”

It was a good thing Tony hadn’t promised no surprises at all.

\--*--

Indeed, Tony **_almost_** broke the more limited promise he **_did_** make. After he’d filled the trunk of the Audi with candies, pies, a few Christmas ornaments, and one beautiful handwoven pashmina - and after he’d taken Morgan for her scheduled meeting with Jolly Old Saint Nick - his casual Saturday meanderings eventually led him to a large red barn that had been permanently erected at the edge of the county fairground. There, an unnamed alpaca very nearly did him in.

Not that this was **_Tony’s_** fault. On no! Said alpaca had the most laughable face you could possibly imagine. Its brown, shaggy mop of a mane very nearly covered its eyes completely — and that shock of wool was complemented by a spectacular set of buck teeth that elicited instant smiles from daddy and daughter alike. For Tony, it was love at first sight. He must’ve stood there for at least ten minutes feeding the beast and massaging its coat before someone else finally came along and shattered the spell.

“The owner’s put that fella up for sale, you know. Not quite show quality.” 

At the unexpected interruption, Tony dropped the tuft of grass he had been holding and turned towards the voice. Inside the next paddock, a man in manure-streaked duds leaned against the fence and favored Tony with a gentle, knowing grin. “Figured you should know,” he said. “Since you seem quite taken with ‘im.”

“Yeah.” Tony hefted Morgan up a bit so she was sitting a little more squarely against his heart. “I’d love to — but I kind of told my wife I wouldn’t. Not on this trip.”

“Well, the info’s on the gate if you change your mind.”

“Thanks.” 

Then Tony, contemplating his next move, quietly watched Overalls for a while as the farmer, presumably, tended to his own livestock.

“What do you think, Morguna?” Tony eventually murmured after he’d surreptitiously snapped several photos of his newfound animal buddy and his placard. “Think we can convince your mom to take in one more stray?”

That was the moment the day officially went pear-shaped.

Before Morgan could offer even one coo in response to Tony’s query, a loud, rending crash - and several screams - echoed through the building. The alpacas before Tony startled, kicking up clouds of stinking dirt as they skittered backwards and screeched in alarm. Instinctively, Tony jumped back himself, wrapping his arms protectively around Morgan’s head. 

_What the hell?_

**_“Everybody down on the ground!”_ **

**_“Submit to your true saviors!”_ **

**_“Submit to the Children of Thanos!”_ **

_Fuck._

Tony crouched behind a bale of hay and activated his watch gauntlets. “FRI,” he called sotto voce. “Activate Starksight and get a fix on my location. Show me what I’m up against. And send a signal to the compound while you’re at it.”

His shades flashed blue, then pulled up a view of the barn’s interior. The attackers had apparently decided to plow a U-haul truck through the far entrance, showering the people and horses there with wood splinters and sparks. _Three, it looks like. All armed. But I can probably get Morgan to safety if I — **shit.**_

One of the cultists - a skinny kid with a serious acne problem - had grabbed a diminutive, terrified young woman and was holding her at gunpoint. “Give us all the valuables you’ve got or this one gets it!” he shrieked, his voice cracking on the final word.

Tony was now in a quandary. The very **_last_** thing he wanted to do was get into a fight — not with Morgan strapped to his chest. But he was also armed — and every chivalrous bone in his body was imploring him to save the hostage, who was currently bleeding from a serious puncture wound in her leg.

Tony took three deep breaths -- then, activating the repulsor in his right hand and deploying a shield with his left, he stood, taking care to position Morgan away from the line of fire.

“Hey, Zits!” The shout rang through the open space, attracting the attention of everyone present. “How ‘bout you drop your guns before I burn holes between your eyes?” 

Zits and his accomplices stared at their new opponent in slack-jawed disbelief. Tony, for his part, took advantage of their shock-induced indecision and fired four precision shots, slagging their pistols and then frying the bottom of Zits’ right sneaker. 

_Not the sharpest tools in the shed. Probably didn’t even buy coverage for that truck they rented._

“Iron Man?” Zits squeaked in pain. “Didn’t you retire?”

“Well, you know how it is,” Tony retorted, forcing nonchalance. “After a year watching _The People’s Court_ and playing canasta at the old folks’ home, a guy can get a little bored. Now are you gonna surrender before I decide to hit something vital?”

“Ah, that’s right. They **_do_** say you’re a regular smartass.”

_What? Who?_

Beside the U-haul’s steaming grill, a fourth man suddenly materialized out of thin air. “Unfortunately, Mr. Stark, you’ve made a mistake emerging from your hidey-hole. We’re not quite as unprepared for your tricks as you might think. Not anymore.”

The ghost slipped two fingers into his right breast pocket — and with a crackle of lightning, Tony’s gauntlets died.

_Shit. Shit, fuck, piss!_

“Take him, Children. I’m sure he’ll be of more use than a couple of wallets.”

Tony was no slouch — but four against one were odds he just couldn’t beat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good gravy, that was hard! But I guess this is what I get for trying to write an actual plot. :P


	3. Tête-à-Tête

_Damn it. **Calm down**. Enough with the mental health bullshit and just **breathe**_.

Back in the present, Tony sucked in a bolus of oxygen with one drawn-out, high-pitched wheeze, forcing it through an airway that had somehow shrunk to the size of a coffee straw.

_Okay. Now do that again, hero._

Tony did — once, twice, three times. But it was still difficult to see, to think — to do anything at all. For the moment, he was paralyzed by one devastating intrusive thought: that Morgan was hurt - or even dead - and it was **_all his fault_**. And for the moment, he didn’t know how to stop the whirlpool — how to silence the crippling fear and self-loathing that threatened to pull him under.

_Yes you do, Tony. You’ve done it before. What do you feel?_

A foundation rubbing against his exposed, bruised back. Rivulets of water trickling from his dampened hair. Metal biting into the flesh of his ankle as he kicked it out in desperation.

_What do you hear?_

The radiator clacking as air bubbles circulated through its pipes. Faint music filtering in from the floor above. A distant crow.

_What do you smell?_

Moldering cardboard. Mildew and motor oil. A hint of camphor — and cinnamon?

_What do you taste?_

Acid sitting in the back of his throat.

_What do you see?_

A window, two feet square, near the ceiling above his head.

_Now what can you **do**? Be the mechanic, Tony. Be the engineer. Morgan’s counting on you._

Tony realized, first of all, that he could no longer put off reducing his shoulder. And yes — that was going to hurt like the fucking dickens. But when an anticipatory sob bubbled up in his throat at the thought, he repressed it — savagely. Crying wouldn’t help him screw up the necessary courage. Reciting the prime numbers after 100 might.

_101, 103, 107, 109, 113, 127, 131, 137, 139..._

When Tony reached 997, he sat upright, seized hold of his left wrist with his trembling right hand, and slowly pulled his arm forward, cursing in every language he knew - and possibly in at least one invented tongue - until his humerus slid back into place.

Then his injuries - and the rush of excess adrenaline - took a distinctly unpleasant toll: Tony lost his lunch in several wrenching heaves. By the time he finished puking, his eyes and nose burned with the smell of his own bile — and his cranium felt like it had been split wide open. 

But there **_was_** one upside: his snowballing panic attack had been stopped in its tracks, replaced by a far more productive mood of furious determination. These Thanos-loving freaks had fucked with his Morguna — and somehow, Tony was going to make them pay.

Step one? Getting his malingering ass on his feet.

\--*--

After a protracted, sweaty, frankly miserable struggle, Tony managed to clamber to a standing position. He was too short - _blast it_ \- to get a **_good_** look outside that window, but even from his less revealing angle, he could tell this building - house? - was out in the woods somewhere — and that it was late afternoon. In fact, if he was judging the waning sunlight correctly, there was about an hour left before sunset.

As it so happens, Tony **_had_** checked his watch shortly before this unwanted adventure had begun — and assuming his short-term memory was fully recovered, the time then was approaching 2 P.M. Factoring in the battle in the barn, that meant Tony’s siesta had lasted a little over an hour at most.

_So how far could I have been taken?_

Luckily, that was basic arithmetic — the sort of calculation Tony could fly through by the time he was four. Really, the answer only depended on the vehicle the kidnappers used to get him here, which roads they chose — and how willing they were to draw attention to themselves by exceeding posted speed limits. Minimum search radius: 30 to 40 miles if they used surface roads and drove responsibly. Maximum search radius: 100 to 150 if they hit the highway and were as reckless as - well - their victim.

One corner of Tony’s mouth twitched upwards in a semi-rueful, semi-predatory half-smile. If he could play this right, these bastards were about to see **_exactly_** how audacious he could be. After all, he no longer cared what happened to his own worthless skin. He had **_one_** dominant goal now — a goal that monopolized his energy with all the greediness of a cosmic singularity.

His miniature reconnoiter complete, Tony sat back down on the floor, taking care to avoid his drying vomit. He wasn’t sure yet what he was going to do with the data he’d just gathered, but he knew it was worthwhile to keep it all in the back of his mind. His glasses - and his connection to FRIDAY - were gone, but he’d spent years sharing living quarters with a couple of super-spies and had consequently learned other ways to send an SOS. All he had to do was wait until opportunity knocked — and try not to lose his mind in the meantime.

Yeah: that was a tall order — but one he intended to fulfill.

\--*-- 

Well after the last remains of daylight had faded, the LED bulb at the foot of the basement staircase clicked on. Tony lifted his head from his knees, his muscles taut.

“Well, well. This is quite a sight, Mr. Stark — and a gratifying one at that.” 

Tony mustered as much of his tattered dignity as he could and fixed the ghost with a glare as the latter pulled up a weather-beaten chair and sat, legs splayed open, Gucci dress shirt unbuttoned, a smirk playing across his lips. 

“I apologize for the delay, by the way. I had to make sure you had ample time to reflect on your — predicament.” Leaning forward, the ghost squeezed Tony’s jaw with one manicured hand — then cackled when Tony snarled and twisted away. “Touchy touchy! I take it you haven’t enjoyed our lovely accommodations?”

“Don’t know what you’ve read in the tabloids, Casper,” Tony spat, “but I’m a vanilla house husband now. I’m not into the kinky stuff. Not anymore.” _Not with anyone but Pepper._

“Oh, good! I was afraid we **_wouldn’t_** be treated to more of your hotshot deflections. **_That_** just wouldn’t be any **_fun_**.”

Oh, he was definitely a smooth operator, this one. Tony knew the type. Hell, Tony **_was_** the type when he needed to be — so he knew how fragile such facades could be. What, precisely, was **_this_** guy covering with his expensive suit and sparkling veneers? And what, precisely, did that mean for his missing daughter?

“What have you done with Morgan?”

“Morgan? Oh! You mean the baby. She’s quite all right, I assure you.”

“Show me.”

“You will be reunited in time — as soon as I get what I need from you.”

“Show me now or you aren’t getting shit.”

“You are in no position to make demands, Mr. Stark. Unless you’ve swallowed one of your marvelous repulsors, you have no gadgetry at your beck and call. And even if you did, well — thanks to a helpful little mole, I have your emergency shutdown codes. How else do you suppose I disabled you in our last encounter?”

Right: the Dark Side Protocol. It was one of those concessions Tony made to Secretary Ross in the negotiations after Sokovia — something to deploy if Tony were ensorcelled or otherwise out of control. Everyone - **_everyone_** \- was convinced back then that Tony was a standing threat without an off switch — and Tony, lost in a profound downward spiral, didn’t disagree. 

Dread sat in Tony’s stomach like a rock as he mentally surveyed his options — yet he held his ground. Where Casper had gotten the Dark Side passcodes was a problem for another date. What mattered tonight was this: contra his earlier fit of despair, Tony was never “helpless.” Not if he was conscious — and not if he was angry. Check on the first — and check with a bullet on the second.

As a matter of fact, the sensation that now flooded through Tony’s bones - the lava-hot **_wrath_** \- was something he’d experienced only a few times before. On one occasion, such a feeling had driven him to invite a terrorist to his Malibu home. On another, he’d almost murdered Bucky Barnes.

“Show me my kid, Casper,” Tony repeated a third time, his words low and dangerous, “or I will fucking **_enjoy_** it when I kill you.”

Two pairs of eyes locked.

“You — are an interesting specimen, Mr. Stark. I can’t decide if your stubbornness is admirable or foolhardy. But very well. I suppose I can afford a **_little_** magnanimity.” 

Casper pulled out his phone and swiped it open. “Theresa,” he said once the person on the other end had picked up his call, “it’s time to bring down the second package — and some appropriate attire for our honored guest.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha ha! This story is growing extra chapters like the last one did -- so buckle up I guess?
> 
> Also, I hope my regular readers are enjoying my flailing attempts to portray Resourceful Super-Genius BAMF Tony Stark (as well as my flailing attempts at plot). One of my chief goals here is to add that to my writerly repertoire before everyone starts thinking I can only do Emotional Fuzzy Bunny Tony. Obviously, Tony IS a softie in the right contexts, but -- I realize he has other layers. ;)
> 
> Next update: December 27. (I'm going to be super busy before Christmas, but my usual weekly schedule should resume after the holiday.)


	4. The Agreement

The moment Tony saw Morgan napping in Theresa’s arms, his heart started skipping, his vision greying a little at the edges. His precious little miss  **_seemed_ ** unharmed — but there was only one way to know for sure.

“Bring her here.” 

_ Too shaky. Get it together, Shellhead. Don’t let them see your fear. _

Like Zits, Theresa was young, oddly fragile — and by the looks of it, strung out on something illicit. But the delicate gold chain draped around her collar suggested she’d had a  **_real_ ** home once — and maybe even parents who cared. Could Tony appeal to that? Could he make this girl understand a father’s need?

“Let me hold her.” Tony coughed and lifted his chin, squarely meeting Theresa’s uncertain hazel gaze. “Please? I need to make sure you haven’t —”

“I believe I agreed to  **_show_ ** you your crotch fruit, Mr. Stark,” Casper interrupted, lifting his hand to stop Theresa in her tracks. “I said nothing about touching her.”

Tony’s rage returned — and with it, the fine tremor in his hands abruptly ceased. “And do you remember what  **_I_ ** said? If I find  **_one_ ** hair out of place on my daughter’s head —”

Crack! Casper slapped Tony hard across the face, snapping his head back and driving his teeth into his bottom lip.

“That — was a reminder. If I didn’t find your defiance so amusing, I’d ask the Children to yank your fingernails one by one. But make no mistake, Stark: you have no power here. No room to maneuver. And you  **_will_ ** do exactly as I say if you wish to keep your pathetic little family intact.”

Tony spat blood on the floor — then smoldered, saying nothing.  _ Best not to taunt the lunatic ‘til he loses it completely. Especially since you’re not alone here. Watch and wait. _

“Excellent,” said Tony’s captor after a beat, satisfied. “Nice to see an egomaniacal asshole like you still has  **_some_ ** common sense.”

_ Yeah. Yay me. I get an A+ in adulting. _

“Now let me explain exactly why you’re here, Stark. You’re here — to be my Paul.”

“Not sure I follow, Casper.”

“St. Paul. Apostle to the Gentiles.”

“Oh. Sorry. The last time I went to a CCD class was in 1983. But go ahead and continue your monologue. I’m all ears.”

“St. Paul was one of Judea’s most devoted opponents of Christianity — until he met Jesus on the road to Damascus. Then he became one of Christ’s most devoted - and prolific - evangelists.” Casper criss-crossed his arms behind his back and began to pace. “To turn a former opponent? Well, that gives a movement a great deal of credibility — the sort of credibility we need if we’re to move beyond bank hits and minor acts of terrorism.”

“And what mumbo jumbo are  **_you_ ** trying to sell to the masses? I may have stopped going to church a long time ago, but even  **_I_ ** know you’re no Jesus.”

“No, of course not,” Casper replied with an impatient wave of his hand. “Jesus was  **_far_ ** too soft. Healing the blind and lame? Caring for the poor? The Sermon on the Mount was a recipe for disaster — along with every other charitable religious code. Jesus, Muhammed, Buddha —  **_they_ ** are the reason we needed Thanos to cut down our teeming hordes. You were once a California man, Stark. Surely you remember the hell that was the 405?” 

“So you’re cheerleading the death of half the universe because you hated the traffic in LA?”

“I’m” — air quote — “‘cheerleading the death of half the universe’ because Thanos was  **_right_ ** ,” Casper burst in irritation. “If anything, he didn’t go far enough — and not  **_just_ ** because of petty shit like the traffic.  **_Every living thing_ ** will have more room to breathe once we get rid of  **_all_ ** of the useless surplus. Oh, there will be a period of adjustment, of course — a little roughness in the road. But in time, the rest of us  **_will_ ** be better off.” 

“Tell that to the friends and families of the Vanished. Proclaim that at the Central Park memorial. I double dog dare you.”

Casper took a knee, grabbed Tony’s left forearm, and pulled. Tony couldn’t help it: he released a strangled, incoherent howl. In her corner, Theresa winced and covered Morgan’s ears.

“ **_You’re_ ** the one who will proclaim it, Iron Man. Maybe then, the people will finally listen.”

_ No. Fuck you. I won’t join your crusade.  _

Tony leaned over and spat again to clear the taste of iron and sickness in his mouth. “Do — whatever you want — to me — you sick bastard,” he panted as the pain in his ruined shoulder crested — and then waned. “An innocent kid — died in my arms — because of your ‘savior.’ Since then, I’ve woken up screaming at least one night a month thanks to the memories of that moment. Better off?” 

_ Not without Pete.  _ **_Never_ ** _ without Spiderman. _ To this day, Tony could never understand how Peter had managed to wade through his “mentor’s” fifty tons of issues and bullcrap without getting tainted. That kind of decency? That was rare — and Thanos had destroyed it with one snap of his fingers.

_ No time for your grief, Tony. You have to set it aside. _

With effort, Tony swallowed down the lump that had risen in his throat. “Don’t make me  **_laugh_ ** ,” he finished once he’d successfully re-harnessed his animating ire, hoping like hell no one in the room had noticed the other - and weaker - emotion that had gathered in his eyes. 

“Ah, I see. Despite your reputation, you’re all heart. But that’s quite all right, Stark. A genuine conversion would’ve been convenient, but I don’t really need it. Your capacity for sentiment will provide all the leverage I need.” Casper stood, brushing the dust from his trousers. “The choice I’m offering you tonight is quite simple: in exchange for your sprog’s life, you will read a pre-prepared statement in our video studio renouncing your former commitments and endorsing the Children of Thanos.”

“And if I don’t accept your terms?”

“Then you and Morgan will not leave this room alive.”

“You’re a fount of creativity.”

“Creativity is overrated. What works — is what works. Right, Stark? Are you ready to become a social media sensation? Are you ready to sacrifice your own pride for your child’s sake?”

Tony ground his molars until his ears began to ache. He knew damn well that Casper and his entourage of misfits could never voluntarily let  **_him_ ** go no matter what he did — not if they wanted to prevent Tony from blabbing and scuttling their entire propaganda operation. No: as soon as this amateur TV production was in the can, these people were going to kill him — or, if they were feeling merciful, they were going to lock him up and throw away the key. But Morgan? Morgan still had a chance.

_ And you do too. If Nat is watching the feeds. If you can remember what Barton taught you in Kiev. And if nobody notices what you’re doing with your hands. _

“You’ve got yourself a deal, Casper.”

“I knew you’d see reason — if you were properly pushed.”

“So — am I doing this skyclad, or —?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Casper picked up the diaper bag Theresa had set down by her feet and tossed it in Tony’s direction, hitting Tony smack in the forehead. “There are clothes in there for you to put on — once you’ve cleaned yourself up. Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you stink of sweat — and there are flecks of barf stuck in your beard. Not a good look for our new spokesperson. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  
_ Mock me all you want, _ Tony thought darkly, an unfamiliar heat crawling up the back of his neck.  _ You haven’t won yet. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, apologies for the week-long delay. From this point forward, we should be back on schedule!


	5. The Message (And a Softer Interlude)

AVENGERS SOS

TAKEN PRISONER

AGING HOUSE IN WOODS

SEARCH 100 MILE RADIUS MAXIMUM FROM 42 N -77 E

BRING SUITCASE IN LOCKER 2B

WILL TRY TO BLOW POPSICLE STAND 

BUT HURRY

…

AND COME WITH GUNS BLAZING

REMEMBER ADMIRAL ACKBAR

\--*--

“So quick question, Casper old pal: any particular reason you haven’t frog-marched me out back and put a bullet in my skull? Keeping me around for my stunning physique? Fall in love with my rapier wit? Hate to break it to you, but you’re not my type.”

“You actually have a type? Thought you were up for a good time with anyone who has a hole and a pulse.” On the other side of the door, Tony’s warden laughed. “But in all seriousness, don’t flatter yourself, Stark. Your pen has been in **_far_ ** too many inkwells for my taste. You’re my bait now — not my new boy toy.”

For the moment, Tony let the slut-shaming insults stand unanswered. **_For the moment._ **

“I take it you want the others.”

“Of course. They’ve been a thorn in my side for months.”

“And what makes you think they’ll come for me?”

“I’m not an idiot. I haven’t managed to snag the number to **_privately_ ** ring up your compound and demand a ransom. But even stripped and disarmed, you’re a clever little motherfucker. **_You’ll_ ** figure out a way to get your compatriots here, I’m sure — and **_without_ ** attracting unwanted attention.”

_You’ve got that right at least — assuming Natashlie saw my coded ASL._

_(God, I hope she’s up for a fight.)_

Tony cinched the drawstring of his capacious loner sweatpants as tight as he could, splashed his face one more time with cold water, and then turned around, leaning against the console sink with a sigh. It’d only taken a minute or two to answer the call of nature that had prompted this ersatz field trip. The rest of the time, Tony had searched in vain for something - **_anything_ ** \- in this claustrophobic powder room that he could use to escape. He’d even considered squeezing through the frosted window above the toilet — until an examination revealed it to be permanently bolted shut.

_And let’s be realistic_ , Tony thought mournfully as he picked Morgan up off the tile floor and resecured her sling. _I probably wouldn’t have been able to get both of us through that opening anyway._ No matter how many times his former teammates had teasingly dubbed him “Tiny Stark” after word got out about the lifts he wore for important public appearances, Tony wasn’t **_that_ ** small. He needed to think of something else — and fast. For his own ego’s sake, he’d rather meet his friends outside. 

At length, Casper’s loud, thumping knock broke Tony out of his reverie. 

“You have five seconds to get your ass back out here, Stark, or I’m breaking in!”

In Tony’s embrace, Morgan began to fuss, her eyes wide, her lower lip trembling. Raking his fingers through her downy hair, Tony tried to shush her as best he could with several butterfly kisses before he twisted open the lock, turned the crystal doorknob, and stepped out into the hallway with his hands up. 

“Okay, okay, okay. Relax. No need for the weaponry.”

Casper glared at Tony down the barrel of his .45.Magnum. “You drown, genius?”

“Nope,” Tony said, popping the P. “My plumbing just doesn’t respond well when big, slick psychopaths threaten me with violence.”

“Well, turn around and get moving,” the other man demanded, kicking Tony’s raw, scabbed-over ankle with his steel-toed boot. “I have better things to do than stand around here all night.”

Wordlessly, Tony limped down the stairs, trying not to dwell on the rhythmic tap of the gun muzzle between his shoulder blades.

Back in the basement, as Casper roughly pushed Tony down next to the radiator and clicked his handcuffs shut, Morgan’s occasional blubbering escalated into full-fledged wailing.

“Can’t you shut her up?” Casper barked, annoyed.

“She’s hungry, asshole,” Tony snapped back. “The only thing your thralls left in her bag when then gave her back to me was half a serving of baby cereal.” And nothing for himself. Not that **_that_ ** mattered. “You want her quiet? Send one of the kiddos on a grocery run.”

Casper growled, his fist closing by Tony’s ear. “Fine. I’ll wake Thomas.” And with that, he stomped up the stairs and turned off the light, leaving Tony alone in the dark with his sobbing daughter — and his own restless brain.

As his eyes adjusted, Tony finally allowed himself to wilt — just a little. Just enough to release the tension in his muscles. Curling his smarting, shaking frame around Morgan, he rested his cheek on the top of her head and started to hum a fragmentary, hitching tune.

_When did it get to be_ **_this_ ** _hard?_

Once upon a time, Tony was the king of the masquerade. Once upon a time, he could hold a devil-may-care pose for hours without breaking a sweat. It never used to hurt **_this_ ** much. It never used to be so **_wearying_ **. 

Was it because he was almost fifty? Was it the fact that he was sober? Or was it simply the past decade’s severe emotional and physical strain?

Maybe it was all three of those things — and something more besides. Something that never failed to break through his walls. Something that filled the cracks of his battered, busted, jaded heart and forced him to truly **_feel_ **. Something that gave him a reason to push on when things seemed utterly hopeless.

Something he cradled in his two arms.

“You saved my life, honey,” Tony whispered, and God, he knew deep in his marrow that it was **_absolutely true_ **. “And I — I don’t know how I’m going to pull it off, but — I’m going to get you out of here if it’s the last thing I do.”

Then, rubbing his face, Tony sat up straight, unzipped Morgan’s diaper bag with his good hand — and was hit, like a bolt from the blue, with an idea so ludicrous that it just might work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm ringing in the new year with a case of shingles right now, so I'm not sure how well I did polishing this chapter. Do you like it anyway? Please let me know; your comments give me life! <3


	6. Tony in Flight

“What’s your problem, Stark? I was busy.”

Tony stopped his arm mid swing, put down the baby bottle he’d been using to ping the radiator, and - pushing aside his crushing exhaustion - flashed a wicked grin at his guard-on-duty. Zits, meanwhile, stood stock-still at the base of the staircase, arms crossed, semi auto prominently displayed on his hip. 

It’d been a few hours since Tony had last disturbed his jailers, and Zits looked quite put out.

“Sorry, kid.” Tony was anything but apologetic and didn’t bother to hide it. “Did I interrupt your vitally important World of Warcraft session?”

Zits merely huffed in reply, his face the picture of bratty indignation. 

_I got the second string,_ Tony thought. _Good. Means I’ve waited long enough._ Then, out loud: “Need to take a leak and ditch some trash.” Holding eye contact with Zits, Tony blindly checked the straps of Morgan’s sling for the forty-fifth time to make sure they were fastened tight. “Any chance we could get another escort to your lovely john?”

Presently, Tony found himself back in the powder room poring over the faded watercolor on the wall, his limbs quivering in anticipation. 

Was he about to sign his own death warrant? He didn’t know. But he certainly wasn’t one to pass up even an outside chance at a successful breakout — especially not when the stakes were so unbelievably high.

Looking down, Tony ran his left thumb along the curve of Morgan’s ear. “Guess this is it, Morguna. Just hope I don’t end up regretting this.” 

_Please, God, if you_ ** _are_** _up there, let_ ** _something_** _in this hellscape of a weekend go right for a change — not for my sake, but for_ ** _hers_** _._

“Done?” Zits asked when Tony finally steeled himself and opened the door.

“Surprise!” said Tony, swinging his right hand around from where he had tucked it behind his back and smashing its contents - one **_very_ ** used diaper - into Zits’ face with full force.

The thoroughly disgusted sound Casper’s minion made then might’ve made Tony laugh. Might’ve, that is, if Tony’s attention weren’t focused on shoving the kid against the wall and wrestling the gun from his hand. Might’ve, that is, if Tony’s attention weren’t **_also_ ** focused on covering Morgan.

The next few minutes passed in a blur. Once a winded Zits had collapsed to the floor with a grunt, Tony barreled down the hallway and through the nearest exit, his bare feet slapping against wood, his chest heaving with exertion. Then he ran, pell-mell, into the surrounding forest, heedless of the tree branches that pulled at his clothes, the thorns that scratched his skin, the stones that abused his poor heels — or the shouts that rose up in the country home he’d left behind.

The approaching December dawn was shockingly cold. Thankfully, in his flight, Tony managed to filch a sloppily knitted afghan that had been draped on a recliner by the door. At the very least, he’d be able to keep his daughter warm. 

\--*--

_Keep moving. Whatever you do, just keep moving._

Say what you will about Steve Rogers - _the stubborn, self-righteous asshole_ \- but the man’s combat and survival training was certainly coming in handy right about now. Already, Tony had picked up a deer’s spoor in the underbrush and was following it to what he **_hoped_ ** would be a water source. Because yes: despite his bitching - and the rest of the team’s suspicions to the contrary - he **_had_ ** been listening to Cap during that interminable “exercise” and therefore knew full well that water could lead him to civilization. 

Or a hunter’s shack. That would be acceptable too. 

It was mid-morning, yet the pale sunlight that shone through the attenuated forest canopy was barely moving the mercury, and Tony was fucking **_freezing_ **. After putting several klicks of distance between himself and his pursuers, he’d paused briefly, ducking into a bush to inspect Zits’ Glock and don the afghan, making sure that Morgan was thoroughly encased in a cocoon of fluffy warmth. The latter hastily acquired prize, however, was not long enough to cover the lower half of Tony’s body, which was slowly going numb from the toes up.

And to top it all off? Tony was starving too. He’d upchucked his last full meal, and his stomach was currently protesting its emptiness by cramping painfully at semi-regular intervals. An hour ago, he’d even toyed with the idea of using the gun he carried to take out a squirrel that had run across his path — until he remembered there were only six bullets in the magazine.

_And be honest, rich boy: would you have been able to bring yourself to gut and eat it?_

No: Tony’s best choice was to brush off every one of his physical complaints - the aching shoulder, the hunger, the incipient frostbite - and continue on his plodding course.

So he did. And more time passed. 

In her bundle, Morgan remained relatively quiet — almost as if she knew crying would reveal their position and bring the fire. Thankfully, though, she seemed blissfully **_un_ **aware of just how difficult it was becoming for her father to stay upright. His legs were growing more and more leaden with each agonizing step, and a devious little voice in the back of his mind was urging him to lie down and sleep with increasingly persuasive force. 

When, at long last, he happened upon a bubbling creek, Tony was on the razor’s edge of collapse — but he persisted. Turning to follow the creek’s meandering bank, he stumbled in a roughly southerly direction over tree roots, loose soil, and dirty ice, his eyes trained on his bleeding feet as he struggled to keep his balance.

“You can do this, Shellhead,” Tony muttered, wiping crusty snot from his Van Dyke with the back of one stiff hand. “Stark men are made of iron.”

\--*--

Tony was so preoccupied with maintaining his footing - and with staying conscious - that he very nearly missed his salvation. But when the sudden change in the shadows that played across the ground fully registered, Tony stopped, looked up, and instantly cracked a broken smile.

Before him, nestled in a copse of sycamore trees, stood a cottage painted fire engine red — and it was the most beautiful dwelling Tony had ever seen.

Tony carefully picked his way across the rocks that were strewn across the creek and scrabbled up the opposite bank. Some of the clay he grabbed crumbled and rolled down the slope — but by some miracle, he eventually found blessed solid ground and **_didn’t_ ** tumble into the water himself.

“Hello?” he called out, and he winced at how rough and weak he sounded. “Anyone here?”

Silence was the only reply.

“Hello?” Tony tried again, raising his voice as loud as his own fatigue would allow.

More silence.

A Corolla and a battered pickup were parked in the driveway, and the yard was strewn with toys. But beyond that, there was no sign that anyone was home. No smoke rose from the cottage’s massive stone chimney — and there were no lights on inside. _Vanished?_

Yes, Vanished. The instant Tony cracked open the (unlocked) front door, the smell that hit him made it abundantly clear that the entire family who’d lived here had been taken in the Halving in the middle of a meal.

Tony experimentally flipped the switch in the entryway — and, when nothing happened, took a cleansing breath to forestall his double-damned PTSD. 

  
_Okay. Okay. Try not to think about the dust. Just — get the generator going and find a radio._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted Tony's fatherhood to be the key means by which he saves himself in this story, so... yeah. That's why he uses a diaper as a weapon. ;)
> 
> (By the way, many apologies for the delay on this chapter. I got very sick again for about a week -- but I'm finally feeling better!)


	7. The Cavalry Arrives

The Boutencourts. That’s who they were. While looking for a much-needed screwdriver, Tony came across some old mail that bore the family name of his absent hosts. 

Thus, he now knew that he was wearing Mr. Geoffrey Boutencourt’s SUNY Oswego sweatshirt and thick, woolen socks. 

He now knew that he’d used one of Ms. Penelope Boutencourt’s rose-colored washcloths to carefully re-warm his tortured toes. 

He now knew that he’d looted the Boutencourts’ first aid kit for the wraps, peroxide and antibiotic ointment he needed to treat - at least for the time being - the sequelae of the last twenty-four hours. 

He now knew it was probably the Boutencourts’ house cat that had leapt at him from the bushes that obscured the Generac out back. (Tony’s adrenaline-fueled imagination thought it was a cougar at first. The thing was massive — and thoroughly wild.)

And he now knew it was the Boutencourts’ supply of stale Lucky Charms that Morgan was gumming in his lap as a stop-gap lunch. (The kitchen was a carnival of horrors, and the children who’d once lived here were apparently beyond the Gerber and Pampers stage, so Tony was making do: cereal for the little miss and a couple cans of watery Campbell’s for himself.) 

(Oh: and let’s not forget the dish towels he’d wrapped around Morgan’s hiney after she’d soaked through her last diaper. How long  **_that_ ** “solution” was going to hold out was anyone’s guess.) 

_ Boutencourt. Boutencourt. Boutencourt. _ The patronymic flashed like a beacon before his mind’s eye. Tony didn’t know these people from Adam; nonetheless, it haunted him that they were gone. 

Tony slammed down four ibuprofen tablets, chased them with a generous swig of warm cola, and brooded. Generally speaking, he was not a superstitious man. Generally speaking, he only put stock in the material — the tangible, rules-bound things he could confirm with a scientific investigation or the strike of an oil-covered wrench. Yet, as the combination of soda and soup churned and bubbled uncomfortably in his gut, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d just cracked open a  curs é d tomb — that he’d disturbed the Boutencourts’ spirits and would almost certainly pay the price.

_ That’s your guilt talking, Tony. Now get to work. _

“Right.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Tony refocused on the electronic components that were strewn on the table in front of him. He hadn’t found the keys to either of the vehicles outside, nor had he found a functional phone. A jerry-rigged transmitter was his only shot — and he had to complete it before the three hours’ worth of propane in the generator’s tank ran out.

\--*--

“So what took you so long, pal?”

Tony meant for that to sound easy and jovial — but it came out vaguely peeved instead. Fortunately, Rhodey took it in stride. “That was more than three hundred square miles of territory you asked us to search,” he explained patiently. “Gotta say, I was reliving some  **_very_ ** unpleasant memories before we got your last SOS.”

“Yeah. Me too.” 

_ Dust and ashes on the counters. Dust and ashes on the floor. Dust and ashes on his hands and on his tongue. _

Tony shivered, but he resisted the urge to self-soothe by hugging his chest, electing instead to stretch out on the Boutencourts’ couch in a posture of insouciance. 

“You okay? You look like hell.”

_ Oops. Guess I’m not putting on the world’s best performance. _

Still, Tony tried to wave off his best friend’s concern. “I’m good. Trying not to die keeps everything at bay.” And believe it or not, that was nearly the truth. Despite his worst fears, he  **_hadn’t_ ** freaked out or dissociated the entire time he’d been here — even though this cottage was a  **_monument_ ** to Trigger. “Think I should share that strategy with Doc Nolan?”

“I think we should take you to a hospital first.”

Rhodey’s earpiece crackled to life.  _ “Have you found Stark, James?” _

“ **_James?_ ** ” Tony repeated, amused and eager to indulge a distraction. “So you and Blue are on a first-name basis now?”

No Fun Rhodey covered Tony’s mouth with his (disappointingly unlickable) left gauntlet and answered Nebula’s hail. “Yeah, I got ‘im. Go ahead and set down if you can.”

_ “There’s a clearing two hundred meters to your northeast. We will land there.” _

“Okay, Tones. Up and at ‘em.”

“No problem.” Wrapping his arm around Morgan, Tony levered himself to his feet — and immediately buckled, falling back onto the couch cushions in a graceless heap.

Rhodey frowned. “Uh huh. Had a feeling you were lying to me before.”

“It’s okay. My feet are trashed, but it’s no big deal.”

“Let me see.”

“Why?”

“No offense, but you’re not exactly Mr. Trustworthy — especially not if someone else’s life is at stake.”

Rhodey and Tony both looked down at Morgan — then at each other. For a long moment, a nonverbal battle raged.

Tony sighed. “Okay. Fine.” In reality, he was hurting too much to keep up the bluff forever. And he was safe, right? The cavalry was here.

With a firm nod, Rhodey knelt beside Tony and gingerly peeled off one of Tony’s - one of  **_Geoffrey’s_ ** \- socks, revealing the mottled, broken skin it concealed. He sucked in a breath. “Jesus, Tony. What the hell happened to you?”

“Remember that mission in Alberta with Rogers?” Tony said, choking a bit as Rhodey gently prodded his swollen big toe. “Like that — except the fuckwads took my Salvatores.”

“You hiked here  **_barefoot?_ ** ”

“Don’t think I had a choice here, sugarplum. They probably would’ve killed me if I hadn’t run.”  _ And then Morgan would’ve been left to their tender mercies. _

“All right, I get it,” Rhodey replied, evidently hearing what Tony didn’t say. “But — shit, Tony, you can’t walk on that. Superficial frostbite is probably your best case scenario.”

“It’s okay —”

“Tony —”

“I just need you to take Morgan and give me the suitcase you dropped by the door.”

Rhodey blinked, nonplussed.

“You got it from locker 2B in my garage, right?”

“Yeah. But Tony —”

“Honeybear, Platypus, Pudding Pop — stop the worrywart routine and hand it over.”

If the contents of that case were still in working order, Tony wouldn’t have to walk. 

_ Problem solved. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm moving next week, so the next chapter will be posted on 2/7. Hope you don't die from the suspense in the meantime! ;)


	8. Hello, Armor, My Old Friend

“I thought you destroyed all your pre-2013 armor.”

“Everything I’d connected to the server, yes. But this?” Tony tapped his metal-enclosed hip with one gauntleted fist. “Turns out I left this baby autonomous — just in case.”

It was quite amusing to watch the astonished look on Rhodey’s face as the decade-old suitcase armor unfolded and clicked into place. But the reason Tony had kept it at Avengers Tower - and kept it “dumb” - was really quite simple: the risk of sabotage. As convenient - and literally life-saving - as it was for JARVIS to run the rest of his armory back then, there was always a chance that Hydra - or some Justin Hammer type - would successfully take out the Starknet and all of its associated hardware. And if  **_that_ ** occurred? Tony certainly didn’t want to be caught with his pants down.

“And I take it you didn’t bother to report this to Secretary Ross?”

“After the shit-show with Ultron, I forgot all about it — until Pep and I moved to the lake.”

“Uh huh.”

“Don’t look at me like that, Sourpatch. I’m telling the truth 100%. Besides, you and I both know Ross was a dick. Who cares if he didn’t know?”  _ Plus, what can he do to me now? He’s probably clogging up an air filter at the Pentagon somewhere. _ The thought was morbid - and disrespectful as hell - but after the three years Ross had been a burr on Tony’s ass, Tony’s less admirable side couldn’t help but give it life.

Satisfied for the moment, Rhodey returned Morgan to Tony’s waiting arms. “You sure you can hold onto her while you fly?”

“Yep.” Tony was already tying Morgan’s sling to his armor as tight as he could. “Don’t tell the missus, but I’ve already tried it.” And Morgan loved it. She was her daddy’s girl through and through.

Rhodey shook his head, then closed his helmet.  _ “Of course,” _ he chuckled, his voice echoing over the external speaker. _ “I don’t know why I doubted you.” _

\--*--

Before Tony followed Rhodey out the door, there was one last thing he had to do. Grabbing a Post-It off the desk in the den, he scratched out a quick, awkward letter of apology to the rightful inhabitants of this home he’d burglarized:

_ Sorry for taking your sweatshirt. And your socks. And your first aid kit. And your towels. And sorry for the mess in your downstairs bathroom. And sorry I disassembled your stereo. _

_ If anyone ever finds this note, please feel free to send a bill to Stark International. You weren’t here to agree to the arrangement, but you provided shelter when my daughter and I needed it most. I’m grateful for that — and for as long as I live, I will remember your names.  _

_ Sincerely, TS. _

Tony knew he was being irrational. He’d already committed the country address to memory; assuming he survived the next few hours, he **_could_ ** come back and straighten out what he’d disturbed. But on the off chance he  **_didn’t_ ** make it out of this nightmare alive and intact, this at least would assuage the spectors that whispered in his ear. This, at least, would be a plan B.

Because Tony Stark always needed a plan B — and a plan C through Z. That’s who he was: a man who tried to account for every possible contingency.

After sticking his missive to the front door, Tony smiled wanly at Morgan. “Okay, peanut. Ready to go for a ride?” And Morgan graced Tony with a doe-eyed stare so infinitely trusting that Tony’s heart very nearly stopped beating at the sight.

Pushing down all the pain and sorrow and anxiety that conspired to weigh him down, Tony clanked his mask shut and activated his jets. Immediately, his HUD flashed red as the limited on-board operating system took note of each of his injuries. “Tear in the left rotator cuff and severe inflammation of the left bursa. Damaged left circumflex axillary nerve. Hairline fractures of the ninth and tenth ribs, left side. Multiple contusions —”

“That’s enough, LOBOS,” Tony replied, cutting off the litany. “Believe me, I already know what’s broken. Just hit me with the morphine and the stims and keep me upright. Capisce?”

JARVIS or FRIDAY might’ve objected to Tony’s order — but this was the first spin around the block for LOBOS, who pricked Tony’s arm with the requested needles without complaint. Tony closed his eyes in relief for a moment as the drugs flooded through his bloodstream and gradually took the edge off.

“Okay. Point us at that clearing up ahead and take it slow. We’ve got a baby on board.”

\--*--

“Good to see you, Tony.”

Tony gently touched down on the Quinjet’s on-ramp and opened his face plate. “Good to see you too,  _ moya malen’kaya gaich’ka _ .” He stepped inside the cabin, wincing when his feet revolted. 

“Need any help?”

“Nope. I’m fine.”

“He’s flexing, Nat,” Rhodey tattled as he fiddled with one of Natasha’s widow’s bites. “The idiot hiked twenty miles through the woods and ice in his bare feet. The bruises on his face are one thing, but his toes look like they’ve been put through a meat grinder.”

Natasha turned back to Tony and raised her eyebrow, waiting for an explanation.

“He’s not wrong,” Tony admitted with a sigh. “But I just took a shot of medical espresso. That should buy me another few hours at least.”

“You don’t have to come with us, Tony,” Nat pointed out quite sensibly. “Once you direct us to the right location, you could stay on the jet with Morgan.”

“Hell no,” Tony bit back, in no mood to be coddled. “If you’re going after Casper’s little Manson family, I’m joining the party.”  _ And don’t at me. You  _ **_can’t_ ** _ change my mind. _

“Are you sure that’s wise, Stark?” Nebula cut in from inside the cockpit. “You do not look well.”

  
Tony sucked air through his clenched teeth in an attempt to keep his temper in check. “I appreciate the concern, Smurfette. I really do. But those bastards put  **_my kid’s_ ** life in danger. And I guaran-damn-tee you that  **_nothing on this earth_ ** is going to keep me from taking them down.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I made you all wait for this installment! But I think I should be able to conclusively *finish* this story over the next two weeks -- assuming, of course, that there are no more evolutions in the plot. ;)
> 
> Next update: Feb. 14.


	9. The Final Confrontation

As the Quinjet streaked back towards Tony’s former ersatz jail, Tony filled the others in on what they’d be facing.

“The guy in charge has some kind of stealth technology. Now that I know that, Rhodey or I **_should_ ** be able to smoke him out, but —”

“— be hyper aware,” Nat finished.

“Yeah.”

“Stark?”

Everyone turned and looked at Nebula, who was currently holding Morgan, her face radiating both insecurity and a touch of distaste.

“I believe your child has defecated. She is — leaking.”

“Oh, crap.” Mortified, Tony plucked Morgan from Nebula’s arms. At once, the baby started to cry, visible drops of her urine plipping onto the deck plate and Tony’s armor-clad feet. “Sorry, Blue. Didn’t exactly have any diapers available back there.” Then, off Rhodey’s smothered chuckle: “Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up, buddy. Did you by any chance —?”

His mouth still twitching with mirth, Rhodey tossed his friend a half-packed duffle. Tony activated Expert Daddy Mode, making short work of the clean-up; even so, by the time he’d finished, his ears were uncomfortably warm.

“This is new,” Nat observed after Tony had returned his daughter to her babysitter-of-the-moment with a few more mumbled apologies.

“What?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you blush before.”

“Oh.”

“Living out here — starting a family — it’s really changed you, hasn’t it?”

Tony didn’t **_feel_ ** all that different. Sure: he was **_definitely_ ** suffering the consequences of being older and less flexible. And sure: he had a tighter handle on his personal mess now thanks to Nolan and the guys in AA. But Nat was implying something else — that, in fact, he had become a **_better man_ ** too. And given the black thoughts that were roiling in the back of his brain, he wasn’t sure that was the case. “A little,” he eventually allowed. “But not completely.”

“We have reached Stark’s estimated coordinates,” Nebula said, interrupting the heart-to-heart. “And indeed, there **_is_ ** a structure down there that meets his description.”

Tony’s face hardened. “Time to rock and roll.”

\--*--

Casper had apparently used the time after Tony’s escape to surround his position with a sizable defense force of true believers. Thus, as soon as Tony, Rhodey, and Nat leapt from the Quinjet and plunged into the moon-lit timberland below, they were met with deafening weapons fire that pelted against gold-titanium alloy and tore through oak and maple branches, filling the air with wooden debris and brown, desiccated leaves. And when they hit dirt - thankfully with everyone, including Nat, in one piece - it took almost two hours to fight their way into the house.

It was just enough time for the stims to start wearing off.

Tony could sense the crash coming, and he cursed his decision to prevent addiction by preloading the suitcase armor with **_one_ ** emergency dose. Damn it, no matter how much his creaky bones demanded it, he **couldn’t** go night-night. He had to find this crafty fucker and collar him before he screwed with anyone else.

“Got anything, War Machine?”

“ _Nothing yet,_ ” Rhodey radioed from the other side of the house. “ _And I’m trying all the EM bands._ ”

Tony growled impatiently and yanked open the basement door. “Come on, you arrogant prick,” he taunted, his shout echoing down the flight of steps. “Come out, come out wherever you are. You wanted to ‘convert’ the Avengers. I **_know_ ** you didn’t turn tail and run.”

**_There_ **. At the base of the stairs, Tony spotted a subtle distortion in the infrared.

“Gotcha!” he crowed, loosing a barrage of low-level laser fire. After ten seconds, Casper’s stealth net sparkled with electricity and collapsed. “Tag. You’re it.”

“Congratulations, Stark. You’re better than average at hide-and-seek.”

“Nah, not really. Your supplier just sucks at cloaking your heat loss.”

“Perhaps.” Casper shrugged and reached into his pants pocket. “But he **_is_ ** very generous — especially once I informed him I was going after you.”

“If you’re planning to hit my kill switch, I’ve got some bad —”

Before Tony could finish the gibe, a heavy projectile screamed up at him from the dark and slammed into his chest plate, launching him through the wall at his rear. Once again, his HUD went nuts, lighting up with dozens of crimson alerts. “Catastrophic damage to power plant detected,” intoned LOBOS. “Auxiliary power at 20%.”

“Shit!” His old suit absorbed **_most_ ** of the momentum of Casper’s missile, but the residual force still left Tony choking on vomit and gasping for breath. “Shit!”

“ _Tony!_ ” Rhodey hollered in Tony’s ear. “ _Are you all right?_ ”

Acid burned in Tony’s nose. “LOBOS!” He gagged, and more fluid dribbled down his chin. “Fire whatever you can give me at that bastard!”

All around Tony, a cacophony erupted. And then — there was relative silence. Only the sound of crumbling drywall disturbed the unexpected calm.

“ _Tony! Nat and I have him. Do you read?_ ”

“Auxiliary power at 5%,” added LOBOS. “Shut down recommended.”

Panting, Tony struggled to his feet, opened his helmet, and lunged at the man in Rhodey’s grasp, propelled by a blind, towering fury.

“Jesus, Tony —”

“ **_Tell. Me. Why_ ** ,” Tony seethed, pressing his gauntlet against Casper’s temple, “I shouldn’t fry your God-damned _cervello_ right here.”

Rhodey grabbed Tony’s arm. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Take it easy, Tones.”

Beyond listening, Tony powered up the repulsor in his palm. The reactions of his teammates were simultaneous.

“Tony! Tony, stop!” “Tony, **_stand down_ **. We need him alive.”

A long, tense moment passed. Then something clicked, and Tony slumped and turned away. Nat was right, of course. He needed to know who Casper was, where he’d gotten his tech, and how he’d breached SI security. That necessitated an interrogation — not a summary execution.

Suddenly overcome by a wave of dizziness, Tony rubbed at his forehead with his metal fingers. “You were wrong before, Nat,” he murmured. “I’m not good. But I’m trying.”

“Auxiliary power at 1%. Shut down imminent.”

“You and me both, LOBOS. Open the suit.”

Tony was unconscious before he hit the floor. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a day late. But here's the good news: I'm only going to make you wait a day or two for the final chapter. :)


	10. Home Again, But Thinking (An Epilogue)

The past two days had not been the worst in Pepper’s life with Tony Stark. Actually, on the spectrum of Reasons to Worry About Tony (trademark pending), this weekend’s abduction fell near the “routine” end of the scale. Thanks to the Children’s social media post, she learned fairly quickly that her husband and daughter were both alive — and that the former was in adequate enough shape to slyly kickstart his own rescue. In other words, she’d had more reasons to hope this time around than she ever had during the long weeks Tony was stranded in space after the Halving — or the three  **_months_ ** he was imprisoned in Afghanistan. 

But did that mean Pepper had been able to sleep - or eat - since Tony and Morgan had gone missing? No, of course not. Not on your life.The haggard look in Tony’s eyes in that video was all the nightmare fuel she’d needed. So in lieu of self-care, she’d spent hours monitoring the Avengers’ chatter as they circled upstate New York in search of their former second and still-current benefactor. And as soon as they’d found him, it took her two seconds to leap into her car in her loungers and head for the Compound at speeds that rivaled Tony’s at his most exuberant. 

Pepper snuggled closer to her partner, burying her face in his shoulder and gently wrapping her arm around his chest. Several hours had passed since Rhodey carried Tony into the med bay, and Tony had not yet come to. All the same, Pepper wasn’t especially worried. Dr. Bahadouri had scanned Tony from head to toe, had concluded that none of his injuries - though significant - were life threatening, and ultimately chalked up his collapse to stim withdrawal and profound over-exertion. “Let him sleep,” Bahadouri had said, and everyone in the room had readily agreed.

And as for Morgan? Despite the kidnapping and the trek through the backwoods, she was completely unharmed. No frostbite. No hypothermia. No cuts or bruises. No sign at all that her life had ever been in danger. Pepper didn’t know the entire story yet, but she suspected that was entirely Tony’s doing. From the looks of him, her crazy, self-loathing - and secretly tender-hearted - hero had thrown himself in front of every threat and had taken the hits himself. Just like he always did. Just like, Pepper suspected, he always would. A terrifying prospect — but one she signed up for with eyes wide open.

Pepper waited, quietly pondering the weight of infinity, until the Monday morning sunshine filtering through the window blinds finally coaxed Tony out of his slumber. 

“Pep?” he croaked blearily.

Upon hearing his voice, Pepper rose and smiled down at Tony, smoothing a lock of gray hair behind his ear. “Hey.”

Tony blinked some more in the light, moaned — then, with a sharp intake of breath, tried to sit up himself. “Where’s Morgan? Is she —?”

“She’s fine, Tony. Rhodey and Nebula are watching her now.” 

Tony slumped back against his pillows, chest heaving, a cascade of unnamed emotions playing across his face. Pepper pressed her hand against his cheek in an attempt to keep him grounded. 

“Everything’s okay now. You did it. You got her out.”

Releasing a shaky sigh, Tony closed his eyes, clearly struggling to take comfort in Pepper’s words. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“Morgan never should’ve been there in the first place. I should’ve done a better job keeping her safe.”

“Tony,  **_no one_ ** could’ve foreseen that the Children of Thanos would show up in our village — or that they would find the means to disable your armor. Not even you. What is it Dr. Nolan keeps telling you? You’re not superhuman. You’re not a fortune-teller. You did your absolute best — and I think your torn ligaments, broken ribs, blistered feet, and dozens of ugly bruises ought to prove it to you and anyone else.”

Tony swallowed and twitched his head in acknowledgement. “Did Nat get anything from Casper?”

“You mean Mr. Stone? Well, that Long Island explosion was not an accident. Somebody in that lab is a mole — for Hammer Industries.”

“Fuck me. I thought they were basically defunct.”

“They were — until Stone came along. Looks like the rest of Justin’s C-suite has had it in for you for years. Stone offered them the financial resources to settle old scores, and they accepted. Enthusiastically.”

“Guess we’re going to be busy with the clean-up for a while.”

“ **_I_ ** will be. And the Avengers. And law enforcement.  **_You_ ** , on the other hand, are going to be resting, with your feet up, at home.”

“Right.”

Again, Pepper lay down beside Tony and gathered him up in a careful hug. “This isn’t hurting you, is it? Your chest looks like you got hit with a pile driver.”

Tony grunted. “Just about. But it’s okay. You’re totally worth it.” Then, after an extended silence: “Do you remember the question I asked you at our first anniversary dinner?”

“Of course.”

“Well, has this weekend changed your mind? Are you still happy you married me — even though I’m Iron Man and everyone’s apparently out to get me?”

“I  **_was_ ** hoping your retirement would be quieter. But yes, I’m still happy I married you. Every day, you give me more reasons to love you. Why would I ever give you up?”

\--*--

Thankfully, Christmas and New Years passed uneventfully. Thankfully, Tony behaved and stayed off his feet. But he was far from idle. In his designated seat in front of the fireplace, ensconced in a nest of fluffed pillows and feather-soft quilts, he fiddled with his Starkpad, pursuing a brand new idea.

“It’s something for Morgan,” he explained one evening when Pepper asked what he’d been working on. “Something she can carry in a locket if I can’t be with her. Right now, her name is ILYA. But I might change it if I can think of something better.”

“ILYA?”

“I’ll Love You Always. I’m trying to stuff everything I can think of in here so the AI can grow with Morgan as she gets older. But I don’t know. I can’t shake the feeling I’m going to forget something important.”

“Hm.” Pepper sat down beside Tony and rested a warm hand on the back of his neck. “Well, you still have time, right? Unless there’s something you’re not telling me.”

“Oh, no, no, I’m not  **_expecting_ ** anything to happen. I just —”

“— like to be prepared.”

“There you go, finishing my sentences again.”

“There are shirts in your closet, Tony. I made sure of it.”

“But what about the shadows under the bed?”

“I swear, if you scare Morgan with that imagination —”

“I’m kidding, Pep. I promise.” But there was an undercurrent of something else in Tony’s grin. Pepper could see it. She knew the man too well.

“Okay,” she decided, resolute. “I think we need to put aside the future for a few hours and just focus on the now. I’ll make hot chocolate, have FRIDAY put on the dumbest no-think movie in her library, and we’ll both  **_relax_ ** . Think you can do that with me? At least for tonight?”

Tony’s expression contained multitudes — but he nodded. “Anything for my girls.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I'm already planning a post-canon story with ILYA — just in case you were wondering. AND I have more "five year gap" stories to tell as well. So please: if you like my stuff, continue to watch this space! ;)


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